"Someone I... care deeply about was swallowed, and I came to rescue them. But I lost my path, and now I need your help to leave this place."
The youth's voice was calm and gentle, with a clarity that resonated more in Nemo's chest than in his ears. There was a strange cadence to it—melodic, yet restrained, as if every word had been carefully selected.
Nemo could also feel a certain closeness to the figure the moment he had started speaking, as if his words had a certain magical effect on him. He looked up, torn inside between trusting and being skeptical.
But at the same time, he felt a definite sadness and longing in the youth's voice, one he had never experienced, but at the same time, after hearing his words, he could feel connection and compassion with him, as if his suffering was infectious.
Nemo hesitated, his expression skeptical. "How can I trust you? I met you in the middle of a trip, inside the stomach of some grotesque creature. For all I know, this is a test—meant to see if I rebel at the first chance I'm given. Maybe I'm better off just walking to the tree."
The alabaster youth said nothing at first. His gaze drifted upward to the ceiling of pulsing flesh, his golden eyes half-lidded in contemplation. A slow, solemn breath escaped him. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if weighing the thought.
Then he spoke.
"Normally, trust is forged through pacts—bindings, contracts, oaths. We seal our faith in one another through systems. But none of those work with you. Your roots have not yet bloomed. You haven't undergone the baptism. Without that, no bond can take."
His voice turned faintly sorrowful. "The creature may tell you why in time... or it may not. But I can't wait another decade for a stranger who can trust me. So instead, I do what was done in the oldest of times."
He stepped forward with quiet grace and gently took Nemo's arm.
"If I want you to trust me, then I must trust you first."
The youth closed his eyes, concentrating. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a crystal-white root unfurled from beneath the skin of his elbow, like a vine of frozen moonlight. It curved around his arm with elegant precision and crept up Nemo's forearm.
Nemo flinched slightly but did not pull away. The root slid beneath his skin with surprising ease—not painful, but deeply invasive. He could feel it moving inward, coiling around the nexus where all three of his roots connected. As it wrapped around the convergence point, it glowed faintly, giving off a quiet warmth.
The air grew thick with an uneasy pressure, like a storm building without wind. For long moments, they stood entwined, silence stretching between them. Nemo hated the sensation—the weight of another's root touching his own. And yet, he allowed it.
At last, the white root retreated, slipping back into the youth's body without a mark.
"I've given you a gift," he said softly. "You'll understand it when you awaken. For now, survive this trip. If you can do that, you may not need my help—but you'll have it, all the same."
"Why are you so sure I'll survive?"
"Because you've already been acknowledged by this place's power. And it doesn't choose lightly. Not even this... overfed beast."
Nemo followed his gaze to the monstrous tree.
"What is it, really?"
The youth smiled faintly. It was beautiful and terribly sad.
"It's better if you don't know. But if you ever learn, remember—I warned you to stay away from that truth."
Nemo exhaled heavily. He felt like a dam straining against floodwaters. Questions pressed at the back of his mind, insistent and impossible to answer. Why was knowledge so hard to come by?
No matter. Sooner or later, I'll find out everything.
That thought comforted him for only a moment—until he remembered his fault. The gnawing hunger to know. The itch that could never be scratched.
"So," he said, clearing his throat. "What's your advice to get out of here?"
The alabaster youth turned back toward the Tree of Hunger, his expression becoming cold and distant.
"The tree is conscious. Old. Cunning. But deeply broken. It has a mind—but is mindless at the same time. And what mind it has is warped by its one obsession: to consume. To expand.
It's always seeking someone strong enough to hold its hunger but weak enough to be controlled. That's you. For now. You're its ideal vessel.
So here's how you survive: agree to everything that means nothing. Speak in riddles. Use vague words. It can't bind you unless you agree to be bound. That's the most important thing. Never—never—promise it loyalty. Never say you'll serve. That gives it a grip on your soul."
He fixed Nemo with a penetrating gaze.
"It will test you. Offer you power, answers, maybe even truths you want more than anything. It will appeal to your fault. Your curiosity. But you must be cautious. Say yes only to the wind and never to the mountain."
Nemo nodded slowly. The repetition grounded him. Cautious. Don't agree. Don't commit. He whispered the mantra to himself.
The golden youth was a beautiful distraction. Like a riddle made flesh. Every word he spoke made ten more questions bloom in Nemo's mind. The inside of his head felt like a pincushion full of theories.
Then the youth stiffened.
"I have to go. The beast has noticed something clean nearby. It will search, and I must not be found. But remember: you promised—help me escape. I'll be waiting when you return. I look forward to it, voyager from beyond."
With a gentle shimmer of light, the youth vanished. The air smelled faintly of cedar and ash. Tiny motes of gold hung for a few seconds before dissipating like fireflies.
Nemo stood still for a long moment. A strange hollowness opened in his chest. He missed the presence already—and was simultaneously irritated.
Voyager from beyond? Beyond what? Earth? The stomach? Reality? He groaned. Damn these cryptic types.
Then the ground trembled beneath him. A distant thump. Then another.
Time to move.